To Woo a Frenchman
by Vampire Catfish1
Summary: Allistor, known to all but France as Scotland, has kept out of world affairs since the day he broke the Auld Alliance, betraying the man he loved to protect his brother, and forcing England to wipe Frances memory in the process. Now, as a favour to England, France goes to collect a human who fascinates him and stirs up feelings and memories he didn't even know he had. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

I suggest reading this 3/4 or 1/2 because the paragraphs are pretty chunky.

This is my first fanfic, so I can't promise it'll be great. I'm not to big on the name, so I'll probably change that at some point if I can. Also, the first chapter might be a bit confusing, so I plan on adding a prologue at some point, but I just wanted to get this online for now :3

Both human and country names are used.

It's rated T for now, but if I can muster up the courage to publish it, there will be smut later on. I've only planned out the story up to a certain point, so who knows, it might just be a very steamy T :P

Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes - it's not my forte :/

(Sorry for the fail summary as well...)

Reviews would be appreciated :)

Anyway...hope you enjoy :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

France had been sitting there, his chin resting in his palm, twirling a pen in his free hand for what must have been an hour now, watching the other countries in the room. As England was the host for this particular World Conference, he was obligated to introduce everything, give an outline of what was to go down at the meeting, and organise anything else that was required, all in his posh, stupid, boring accent. Sometimes, he was actually amazed at Englands ability to remain completely monotone when giving his presentations. He had been doing it for over 100 years and yet there wasn't a single change in the way he stood, the way he never met anyones eyes, and the way he enunciated every stupid syllable. Even during the World Wars, or when his favourite queen had died, or even during the Plague the stupid Brit didn't lose face, and it pissed France off to no end.

So, when the meeting had started, it was obvious something was wrong with his stuck-up enemy. The moment France noticed that England was about a hundred times more tense than usual, that he kept making mistakes and that he refused to make eye contact with a single member at the World Conference, he knew it must be serious. But not once did England bring up anything that could be considered worrying enough to have him acting like this. It was all 'trading' and 'relations', but more than once he kept losing himself in his thoughts and ended up blushing every time he was called back to reality.

It was amazing. The only time he had ever seen England that shaken up was when France had helped America win his independence, but that was a different matter. It was common knowledge that, apart from the usual troubles that tended to plague most of the countries at the World Conference, England was doing fairly well for himself.

So, France couldn't help the fact that his eyes kept straying back to the Brit as he wrung his hands and shuffled from one foot to the other in front of the screen, a light grin playing across his lips as he tried to imagine what possible hell could have his dear Angleterre acting like this.

* * *

As soon as the first half of the meeting was over, England shot out the conference room like a frightened cat and rushed towards the back room he had reserved for himself, slamming the door behind him. The room was so small that it only took three paces for him to reach the other side, grab his bag from the table against the wall and tear it open. As soon as he grabbed his phone, an old model that could only make calls, text and play snake, his eyes sunk as he saw he had thirteen missed calls and over one hundred text messages.

He knew it had been a bad idea to allow his brother to go drinking with Mexico without supervision...

He growled as went to check his texts, realising instantly that every single one of them was an update from Scotland, each one growing less snide and more vague as his brother grew drunker. He groaned, sitting down in the only chair in the room and running a hand through his hair as he deleted them all, beginning to expect the worse as he checked his missed calls, all of them from a club that his siblings liked to frequent.

The owner of the club knew Arthur and his brothers well; his brothers, because they were always causing havoc, and Arthur because he was always the one who had to go and pick them up.

If he rang his brother now, hopefully he could somehow convince him to get a taxi home, or even just get to the nearest hotel and wait for Arthur to come and collect him. Though, knowing how Allistor got whenever he drank, it would be a hard push to get the stubborn bastard to do anything, especially since the last time they spoke it had been to scream at each other about England placing restrictions on his brothers movements during the week of the World Conference. That, along with the fact that Scotland usually always got his way due to his refusal to give in (the fact that he was out with Mexico right now just proved that) and his love of opposing every little thing England tried to do would mean he would probably have to promise him something horrendous which he would most definitely come to regret further down the line.

He jumped in fright as he was yanked from his thoughts by his phone vibrating, signaling another incoming call from the club. He sighed as he lifted his phone to his ear and answered.

"Fred?"

"Arthur." The club owner replied curtly, barely audible over the sound of the pounding music that was creating a buzz on Arthurs end of the line.

"What has he done this time?" He sighed. There was a pregnant pause, long enough for Arthur to recognise the song playing in the background. "Well?"

"Just be glad I have yet to get the police involved"

* * *

"What the fuck!?" France froze as he heard that thick accent shout, a grin forming as he knew exactly who it was. "Are you fucking kidding me?" It really had been a good idea to stalk the Brit.

He looked around, trying to locate which one of the many doors in the long, bland corridor his voice was echoing from. He didn't have to wait long before he heard another shout.

"It's fucking 9pm. There is no bloody way he is – No!" He shouted into his mobile. "Don't tell me to fucking calm down!" This was perfect, France mused as he imagined his neighbor scowling, those massive brows coming together like some monster caterpillar. He tried not to chuckle at the thought.

There was another pause, but no other voice came, so France concluded England must have sneaked a phone into the conference. He began to grin again. Whatever had the Brit on edge was serious enough for him to break the rules (no matter how stupid those rules were. France had scoffed when they had first come up with it. No mobiles? Did the conference organisers really think each country wasn't going to report what happened during the meetings to their leaders after it ended?)

"That is not my problem." He heard England growl. It had been while since he had seen England angry enough to drop his stupid posh accent.

There was a pause and France grinned in fascination as he heard England stutter over the phone in a way he only did when he was shocked and trying to hide it."A-Are you sure?"

As soon as he heard the creak of what he assumed to be a chair and sound of England moving, France had to get away from the door fast, but he wasn't quick enough.

He was only a few yards away from the door when it clicked open, England muttering "For fucks sake." while slipping on his jacket. If England didn't annoy him so much, he might have actually cared about the deep-set worry and stress that was obvious in Englands eyes.

He froze as he saw France, who had already corrected himself from his fleeing stance to make appear as if he had coincidentally just happened to be walking down the corridor at the same moment England opened the door. "What do you want?" England asked gruffly, straightening his jacket.

France acted offended. "Can't a man walk down a corridor anymore without being harassed?"

"Not when he's French." England growled back, still managing to be as annoying as he always was despite whatever was wrong. France smirked, trying to work out a way to broach the topic of whatever had caused that earlier reaction from the Brit.

They stared each other down, France enjoying the height difference as he always did whenever they crossed swords over the tiniest of things.

"What's wrong, rosbif?" France asked with real concern in his voice, startling England. Though it was rare for him to do so, usually when France asked, his voice always held mocking, and he only asked to find yet another opportunity to irritate England.

He opened his mouth to reply, but then caught himself. No way could France know about Scotland, not after all the shit they had been through. If France managed to recall the memories that Scotland had forced England to suppress about Scotland and France's time together, he would never be forgiven. Even though, despite popular belief, the brothers didn't hate each other, England was almost sure Scotland would somehow kill him if France remembered the hell they had all experienced.

"Nothing! And don't call me rosbif!" He growled, needing something to fill yet another silence.

"Oh, so there is something?" The mocking was back. France could never just be caring for more than 5 seconds. England should have learnt that by now.

"If something's causing you trouble, why don't you just run off and I can stay here and do your thing?"

"I'm hosting, you eejit. I can't just leave" There was no way in hell he would ever let France take over, especially when they were in London. He would never live down the embarrassment of having people know he had to ask to France for help.

A massive smirk spread across Frances face as he tried not to laugh. "Did you just call me an 'eejit'?" The question earned him a withering glare from England.

"Shut up." He said hoarsely, causing France's smirk to drop.

There was another pause. It was irritating how these long pauses had begun to fill the conversation between them ever since the Gulf War, when he 'accidently' ended up in France's bed again after one too many scotches.

"I would help you..." France pretended to consider. There was no way he was going to pass up the chance to meet whoever had sent England into such a state. "But what's in it for me?"

He tried to hide his grin as he watched the little Brit. He was obviously flitting through ideas in his head, but what he could have been imagining was beyond France. His face swapped between disgust, blushing anger and pale horror. It was almost beautiful, but also insulting. Did he really think he was that bad a person as to demand whatever foul things England was imagining?

Englands phone suddenly vibrated, cutting off France's fun as he lifted it to his ear without a second thought, answering it right away. "Arthur." Freds voice came through the other end. "Come now. I'm barely keeping a lid on them both. I can't let this get any more out of control." Engand's eyes darkened as he looked to France, realising what he needed to do.

"Send him to Drench. Someone will be there in 30." He hung up quickly and put the phone in his pocket, mentally steeling himself into somehow convincing France to go collect a man he didn't know he hated in the middle of a World Conference without losing an arm and a leg.

"Look." He growled out. "I'll just owe you one, okay?"

"Hm." France pursed his lips. Many years ago, when he was still an Empire, that might have meant something, but the England now was just...

But, it would give France a chance to meet whoever had the ability to send England into such a state, and that was a hard offer to pass up. Just thinking of all the future torture he could put the Brit through from a simple act of kindness, that he was also benefiting from, was enough to get him to agree. "Alright."

Gritting his teeth, England explained the problem, watching intently for any spark or recognition as he mentioned Allistors name, deliberately leaving out the fact he was both a country and his brother. For all France knew, England only had three other siblings. He only hoped that one meeting with the man France swore as his eternal enemy wouldn't bring back all that hate that Scotland had begged him to hide centuries ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter :3

This is treading dangerously into the M category, but I don't think it's quite far enough along to be rated so yet.

Sorry it ends so awkwardly, I just wasn't really sure how to get the ending out.

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

It was a shame, he thought, eyeing the crowd of dancers on the way to the bar. There were a lot of attractive people here tonight, even if most of them were English, and if he wasn't so determined to find the source of Englands frustration, he wouldn't have minded spending a few hours getting to know some of them.

"Excuse me?" He called out as he reached the bar, shouting over the music. "Arthur Kirkland sent me to pick up someone up?" The bartender nodded and signalled France to follow him.

It was barely 10pm yet the place was packed. Sure, he barely knew anything about the night life of his rival, but he never thought he would come across a place that was so popular. Or maybe the British just had low standards.

"Lucky Arthur sent him here." The bartender shouted as he lead France through the crush of the dance floor. "He woulda ended up on the streets if he started doin' em in the other club."

_Doin' em?_ If France remembered correctly, that was slang for sex. Though he wasn't adverse to 'doing it' where people might catch him he couldn't see the romance that came with performing in the middle of a club where anyone could watch.

He tried to hide his grin. _How interesting..._No wonder his dear Angleterre was panicking. France could only imagine the trouble England would get into if this Allistor person, someone France assumed England was responsible for, gave Arthur a bad name.

It was obvious by the way England was acting that he knew all about Allistor's misbehaving, which lead France to believe this wasn't a one time thing. He was beginning to grow even more excited at the thought of being able to meet the man.

The bartender led him to a small flight of stairs, concealed within a thin corridor and nodded to the curtain at the top. "This way." He shouted. France didn't fail to notice the 'VIP' stamped clearly in gold on the blood red curtain, which seemed, apart from the various bottles behind the bar, to be the only thing that wasn't black in the entire club.

The pounding music had subdued slightly as they reach the curtain, allowing the bartender to talk normally. "Are you ready? I can't promise what you see in here will be anything less than obscene." France refrained from asking him why such a room even existed, instead giving a nod. He was in too deep now to back out.

France had to hold back a gasp at the sight that met his eyes as the bartender pulled back the curtain. Everything about the room instantly fascinated him. A red velvet bench clung to three sides of the walls, long enough to fit at least three men, head-to-toe. The walls, made of mirrors, seemed to reflect more than just the people contained within, the reflections bouncing off of each other and bathing the room in pink. In the centre of the room sat a curved high-back sofa, which circled around a simple glass coffee table. Upon the table there were a few empty flutes and a black handbag that must have belonged to one of the many women in the room. Hidden behind the sofa was a second red curtain, maybe leading to another room like this one, or just there for effect. The whole room was covered in a thin layer of pinkish smoke, which seemed to hide the faces of every one of its occupants, while adding to the lusty tone of the room.

But even so, that wasn't really what drew him to the room. The entire place, from the sounds to the smells, was bathed in l'amour, so raw and perfect that it nearly had him drooling.

The music was slow, sensual, and, at first, France wasn't even sure it was there, but as soon as he heard past the lusty moans and pants of the people within he became even more entranced with the place. Judging from the sounds, he was starting to see why having others watching may be an appeal.

There were at least fifteen people in the room, some on the bench, at least three on the sofa in the centre and a few on the thick carpeted floor. With some, it was hard to tell where the first person started and the second ended, as they were melded so closely together that France could swear they were 'doing it' out in the open, and the smoke did nothing to sway him from that suspicion. Two men, draped in black suits, sat in the far corner, sipping champagne as they watched everyone else with hungry eyes.

The bartender sighed heavily. "I still can't believe the boss allows this..." He muttered before stepping inside and heading straight for the sofa in the centre of the room, dodging around a pair who's clothes had seemed to have disappeared. France followed close behind, grinning as the dark women arched her back, moaning as her partner held her close and buried himself in her chest.

"Oy! Allistor!" The bartenders bellowed each word. "It's time for you to go!" His loud shouts did nothing to discourage the other occupants from their activities.

France watched in amusement as Allistor detached himself from a blonde long enough to give both France and bartender a once-over. He ran his burning eyes slowly over each of them as if he was savouring the details. "Hmmm..." The red-haired man hummed with a slow smile as he met Francis's eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath as a heavy jolt of lust was sent straight to his groin.

Arthur's descriptions of the man did him no justice. He was even better than France expected. Even in the smokey room, it was obvious Allistor was handsome, and the sharp scar that ran down the side of his right cheek only accented that fact. His hair was a deep shade of red that France had never seen before naturally on a human, and his eyes were such a vivid green that he would have sworn he was staring at one of the Kirkland's had he not known for a fact Arthur only had three siblings.

Allistor held Frances gaze as he slowly stood, the smile suddenly dropping and increasing the mans sexiness tenfold as his stare became more intense. France could feel himself starting to feel uncomfortable under the mans heavy gaze, his body growing hotter and becoming conscious of his appearance as they stared at each other. He felt a light blush colour his cheeks and had to look away as the man raised a sleeve to his mouth and wiped away any trace of lipstick. Was it right for a human, an Englishman no less, to be this sexy?

Allistor laughed slightly as he zipped up his fly, leaving the other blonde to gasp alone, satisfied, on the sofa.

After a pace or two, Allistor stood before him, narrowing his eyes. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" He snarled, startling Francis. After so many years of masking his emotions, it was easy to hide the fact he was shocked over the statement. He was good with faces, and knew when he had met someone before, but he knew he would never forget meeting a man with eyes quite like that, and who had effected him so quickly with a single look.

Ignoring the fact that the man had one of the sexiest voices France had ever heard, he gave the man a bright smile and laughed, neatly brushing off the fact Allistor recognised him. "Arthur sent me to pick you up."

This only seemed to make Allistor angrier. "Oh, did 'e now?" The mans breath reeked so strongly of alcohol that it was hard not to cough at the over-powering smell. "And what did the _Great_ Arthur tell you to do with me?" He growled. Was it wrong of France to grow more attracted to man the angrier he got? His accent had a certain growl to it that made him sound rough and feral, and it was all France could do not to turn on his charms and start to work on the man that seemed to be the bane of England's existence. Or maybe it was just the feel of the room that was affecting his senses.

"I'm to make sure you get home." He broke the gaze, barely able to handle to way Allistors eyes bore into him.

"Ha!" He barked a laugh, his hot breath brushing France's cheek. It would have been sexy had his breath not stank.

He turned back to the person he was with and bent over, caressing their cheek while he he whispered something to them before smothering their lips with his own, eliciting another a moan of pleasure from whoever his partner was.

France tried to ignore it, but just the simple action of seeing Allistor pleasuring another was driving France wild. He was already half hard and didn't know if he could take any more of the torture the man didn't even know he was giving.

France cleared his throat and Allistor rose, glaring at him again before charging out of the room, flinging the curtain back and storming off.

Ignoring the bartender as he called for Allistor to come back, he chased after him, catching him as he left the club.

"Well..." He said, rocking back on his heels sounding satisfied. His whole demeanour had suddenly changed, a bright smile replacing his scowl which he seemed to direct with full force at France. "That was fun."

France just stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and wondering if England would accept the 'he was drunk' excuse if France took Allistor home with him.

"What was that room?" France finally spat out, the only sane thing he could think of saying given the way he was lusting over Englands charge.

"The boss puts aphrodisiacs in the smoke." He said, as if that would explain everything while fixing him with his sharp eyes. "But that shouldn't effect you now, would it?" He chuckled before brushing past him and down the pavement, swaying slightly.

France was dumbstruck, barely able to register that Allistor knew what he was due to being overwhelmed by the man himself. He couldn't place what it was, but something about him intrigued him like no human ever had before. Even with Jeanne, he had never become so entranced so quickly.

"Well," the other country said, turning and calling France with a slight smirk. "Off we go then, France."


	3. Chapter 3

"Wait!" France grabbed his arm, spinning him around with a desperate look in his eye. "Who are you?"

A flicker of hurt flashed across Allistors face before it was quickly replaced with a chuckle. "Oh dear. He really didn't tell you anything, did he?" He kept the forced smile and nodded towards the car park, making France lead him towards some crappy sports car that might have looked stupid being driven by anyone else, yet he managed to make it look sleek.

...xXx...

He was going to murder his brother. He didn't know how or even if it was possible, but the next time he saw that asshole, he was at least going to beat him so bloody not their even their mother would recognise him.

It was one thing to split him up from his long time drinking buddy (which brought up the question of where the fuck Mexico was now) but to send France, the one person he had spent nearly four centuries avoiding...What the hell was Arthur even thinking?

_He_ was the one that performed that bloody spell to seal up France's memories of their time together. _He_ was the one that insisted Allistor stay away from the World Meetings and such in case France's memories returned. And _He_ was the one he betrayed France for in the first place!

Was he really in such a desperate situation that he couldn't have just sent one of his human lackeys to pick him up? Every country in the world knew he was hosting right now, but that didn't mean he didn't have a million stupid humans who could do his bidding for him.

And Drench? Really? The club known to most as a whorehouse due to the 'sensory room' placed at the back, and he had France find him there!?

_Urgh..._There was literally no way this night could get any worse...

He threw a look to France, catching him staring at him again from the drivers seat, and inwardly sighed as France hurriedly looked back at the road. He wasn't stupid. He knew France was feeling the same intensity and heat between them as he was, it was just he didn't know why. And that wasn't the worst of it...

The moment he realised it was Francis standing behind the bartender, he sobered up immediately. It was very rare for him to get absolutely plastered, but with the knowledge that France was in the country and he couldn't see him had been driving him insane, and only after sending Arthur crazy with his pestering had been allowed to go out. He had slung back anything he could get his hands on, and was already drunk by 4pm, blacking out around 6 and becoming conscious in Thirst, the Kirkland's favourite club, to find a lady on one arm and a large drink in the other.

And he couldn't have been happier. Sure, he and Mexico were known to get a bit rowdy, but dancing on the bar, taking over the DJ booth and fighting each other was a normal night for them. But then that eejit Fred had to go and call Arthur and he got himself sent to Drench. Not that it mattered that much. He was still having a good time in the form of whoever he had hooked up with in the back room...but then France had to show up...

And now, for an entire shitty car ride home, he was going to have to pretend he was a fucking normal human, and that just being near France wasn't driving him crazy. It was taking everything he had not to jump the stupid bugger, especially when he kept looking at him like he did back in the old days.

'_You make me wild._' Francis had once whispered before a night of passionate love-making. Like he was the only one who felt that way...

And now he knew nothing. All the while thinking of how intensely they loved each other, Scotland had to ignore the way Francis kept running his eyes over him, the way he kept licking his lips and the goddamn sexy blush that kept rising on his cheeks every time their eyes met.  
He thought he might have gotten over how much he was obsessed with France. Even in the beginning, it was him that had been drawn to France, and all throughout their relationship, even though he never showed it, he always doubted France was truly his. It wasn't exactly helped by the alliances with both Poland and Hungary, but at least they had stayed together and were one of the longest alliances in French history.

And then the betrayal happened, and everything changed. Scotlands 'love' turned into a complete obsession as England wiped France's memory and proof they ever loved each other vanished with a simple flick of a wrist. The fact that France forgot so easily hurt more than anything else.

And now that France had met him again, had felt...whatever the hell was left between them, there was no way he wasn't going to interrogate England into telling him who he was. That's just how France was. It was the same with that bitch, Jeanne. As soon as s he took an interest in someone, he did everything he could think of to try and get close to them, to wheedle himself into their lives, and then drive them insane.

He was starting to get angry again...

"Funny, int it?" He finally said, drawing himself out of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking too much. If he snapped again, he could end up hurting Francis, and though that would be the easiest way to push France away, he didn't want to take that route, not yet.

"Huh?" he looked over to Allistor, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the window. It was easier like that, when he couldn't see his eyes, though his heart still tremored slightly. He needed to stay focused as well. He'd nearly missed Allistor saying anything, concentrating too much on being able to look at the road and the passenger at the same time.

Allistor opened his mouth as if to say something, and then sighed. "It's nowt. Dinny worry yersel.'" France furrowed his brow as he tried to understand what the man had said.

"Oh..." Allistor said as he turned, finally meeting France's eyes. His heavy accent suddenly vanished as he asked "I guess you don't know much about the United Kingdom after all..."

France was beginning to grow annoyed at his vagueness and at his inability to understand the other mans speech. Countries usually understood anyone, no matter what language they spoke, but France could barely grasp what the man was saying, and not just because he was being infuriatingly vague. "What do you mean?" He was trying to remain polite, refusing to be put in the same category as England when it came to this man. They had barely known each other for more than five minutes, and France already found himself caring deeply what he thought about him.

He chuckled. "That'll be a yes then."

They were silent for the rest of the journey. The heat had somewhat simmered down as France tried to decipher what little Allistor had said to him, and Allistor refused to look anywhere else but straight ahead into the murkiness of the cloudy sunset.

**A/N:** Sorry nothing much really happens in this chapter, I just needed to get Scotland to do some ranting .  
I wrote this in a hurry, and it's hopefully meant to clue you in to more of France and Scotland's old relationship, but if it doesn't make any sense, or feels a bit jumpy, say, and I'll edit like I did the last chapter :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.


	4. Chapter 4

Fourth chapter ^-^

Thanks so much to my sort-of beta reader The WeatherWitch :3

Also - I changed the name! :3

Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

England sat on the couch in the front room, a book propped open on his lap. He had been trying to read ever since he got home, but he'd been too restless. Not even after a cup of camomile tea and a bath had he been able to settle.

He had tried cleaning, but he was already such a neat freak that all he ended up doing was rearranging the large bookshelf filled with classics that covered the back wall. He had done some washing, tried baking and then spent a good thirty minutes trying to scrub off the charcoal clumps that were meant to be scones from the non-stick baking tray.

He sighed and brought his legs up under him, leaning against the arm of the couch and throwing another glance out the window. He kept checking for headlights every other minute and had been listening for the crunch of tires on gravel ever since he had sat down, but the hours kept ticking down and Scotland had still to return.

France knew exactly where he lived and should have no trouble reaching his house, so why where they taking so long?

All kinds of thoughts flitted through his mind, from Scotland being arrested to the both of them holing themselves up in a hotel room and making up on five hundred years of lost time. Anything was possible, especially with two wild cards like Scotland and France. Though he could usually tell what Francis was thinking, he did have rare moments when he actually acted like he a conscious, but his brother was a devil. He could snap at a single sentence and there were many times when England thought he might actually be insane. It was always hard to be around him as he never properly showed his emotions and could probably tell a lie to God and get away with it.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and yawning. When it wasn't a drinking night, he was normally early to bed, and all the hassle of hosting the World Conference, as well as the bath and the tea, had just added to his weariness. He couldn't wait until it was all over. He could send France and Scotland home, probably reinforce the spell on Francis before he left (just in case) and then he would just need to deal with Scotland's rage and frustration as he worked his obsession with France out of his system again.

Why did he have to accept France's offer for help? He could have sent anyone else. Anyone.

It might have looked suspicious suddenly calling on a random member of the Conference, but no-one had history with Scotland quite like France. And at least he would have to deal with the shit-storm that was definitely going to amass from this one decision made in a panicked moment...

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he just let the spell on Francis naturally dissolve. Scotland would be happy (eventually), France would be happy(eventually), and they would both be so caught up with each other that they would leave him alone, crossing off two of the four nuisances that normally plagued his everyday life. Sealand was an easy one to handle, as he could usually just send him off to play with Seychelles or Kugelmugel, but America was a different story...

He sighed again. The only reason for the Auld Alliance in the first place was because they wanted to beat him up. Sure, the times had definitely changed and they would probably just be laughed at if they tried to instigate a war now, but he never knew when it came to those two.

England knew that Scotland could never forgive himself for the pain he was forced to put France through, and that was why he hadn't seen the other country ever since the French Wars of Religion, when France needed his memory wiped again after he started trying to find out who Scotland was. But even after that, he left some of his people there to look after France in the form of the Garde Écossaise, with Scotland placing his own spell on France which would force him not to question why they were there. Though Scotland did have his own magic, it was always very shaky due to his temperament and unwillingness to use it when it was needed.

Englands brothers and sister rarely got involved when it came to other countries, leaving matters of the 'outside world', as they liked to call it, to Arthur, but they still went out every now and then. Scotland and Mexico would go out drinking, Wales often visited Japan, and Ireland had a habit of sneaking over to Russia's house when he was in one of his 'moods.' It was common knowledge between all the countries that Scotland was not to be mentioned to France, and so they had to make sure that the siblings could only go out when they knew France wouldn't be anywhere near them.

He sighed. They were such stupid precautions. There were countries that had gone through a lot worse than a simple betrayal. Like America's bloody stupid independence, the Opium Wars, or even the World Wars. Sure, they fought against each other and out themselves through hell protecting their own lands, but in the end, they still remain friends because that's what they did. They didn't judge each other for their leaders actions, like none of them judged Germany, China or North Korea just because they had some bad luck when it came to who ruled their country. Though, he knew for a fact that his brother had betrayed France of his own free will to help him, he was still following the commands of his leaders. It was just that Scotland took all the blame for the fact that he had to hurt France to protect England, and he didn't think France could ever forgive him for that.

If something like that was really true, that France was so heartless that he would never forgive any country that hurt him, then how would that explain why he loved Italy like a little brother, and enjoyed teasing Germany so much? France was one of the most laid back people he knew, and England was pretty sure he didn't actually have the attention span to hate someone for more than a day.

He shook his head – he was over thinking everything again. Worrying about nothing. They probably just got a flat tire or something like that.

...xXx...

20 minutes later, just as England was beginning to nod off, a car finally pulled up his driveway, the headlights flaring through the windows and jolting England out of his doze.

He rose, pensive, adjusting his dressing gown as he padded softly over to the door.

Cracking it open gently, he tried to get a peak at what they were doing before letting them know he was there. To his relief, they were walking towards the house; no fighting, no passionate kissing, no talking, nothing.

He swung open the door and leaned against the frame, feeling almost nostalgic as he caught France and Scotland smile at each other.

"What took you so long?" He asked when they were close enough.

Allistor chuckled, smiling brightly. "He insisted we take the long way and got us lost."

"Oh?" France purred. "And what's wrong with taking the scenic route every now and again?"

He force out a chuckle as they started to playfully argue between themselves, and then he realised something. France was using the voice. _The_ voice; the one he only used whenever he wanted to get in someones pants. Sure, it was basically his normal voice, but he always had a special tone for Scotland, and it had been nearly 500 years since he had last heard France talk to someone so silkily. He probably didn't even realise he was doing it. There was also the way he was looking at Scotland, like a child would a new puppy or some magical creature; a certain twinkle there that England had only seen him have when he was in the presence of the man he loved.

They hadn't even been together five hours and the spell was already weakening? Even back in Normandy it still held strong for a good few days before France started taking an interest in Scotland. But there was a large difference between two years and five hundred*...

They seemed fine though. Apart from the obvious lusting coming from France, he couldn't see any cracks or strains. France still obviously had no idea who Scotland was, only that the country of romance had suddenly fallen intensely in love with a stranger in the matter of seconds.

There a was a pause in their conversation and he used that as his opportunity. "Why don't you go inside?" He nodded to Allistor. "I'll join you soon." He gave what he hoped was a soft smile as he moved to let Scotland pass.

Both France and England watched him go, waiting until he had vanished into the kitchen before turning back to each other. France grabbed his arm, tugging on it. "England." His voice was off somewhat, not sounding like the usual suave gentleman he was used to. He didn't like seeing France with proper emotion in his eyes. "Who is he?"

He stared at France's hand squeezing tightly around his wrist and frowned. "Thank you." He said, yanking his arm back from France's grip and rubbing it. "For collecting him for me. I don't know what I would have done without you." Luckily, the dressing gown had stopped France from hurting him.

"England. Please." They stared at each other, the seconds ticking by as England contemplated telling France who Allistor really was. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't, not just for the sake of his own life, but for his brother's as well. Allistor still wasn't ready to face his 'guilt', not yet at least.

"It's past midnight, Francis. You should go."

"Wait!" He called out, stepping up to the door, but England had already slammed it in his face, leaving France to wonder on both who Allistor was, and why Arthur had called him by his real name.

...xXx...

"Brother." Scotland smiled slowly, a sense of dread washing over England as he entered the kitchen to find Scotland nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and rubbing his iron earring. "Care to explain?"

England just sighed and made his way to the cupboard. He needed tea.

"Why the fuck did you send him?" He snarled, his voice showing his true emotions for once.

He tried to stay calm. He needed to keep himself composed so as not to set his brother off. Just because he was used to pain didn't mean he liked it.

"I had no other choice." He said, turning after he had filled the kettle and placing it in its holder.

"No _choice?"_ He hissed. "You had no fucking choice?" He laughed crudely. "And I'm sure it was just one big fucking coincidence that France happened to be the only person who -"

"I am not the moron who thought it would good idea to get fucking wasted during the week of the World Conference!" He spun, shouting back. So much for that calm thing...

"Oh, sure, because I am obviously the one to blame here."

"How the hell do you think any of the blame lays with me!? You have to do nothing, fucking nothing, and I took on all your responsibility to the rest of the world hundreds of years ago when YOU were to afraid to face the fact that you actually acted like a man for one and put your family before your needs!"

Allistor glared at his brother, trying to come up with a decent response to something he knew was true. He just couldn't stand that his brother was such a hypocrite. Telling him to stay away from France for hundreds of years and when he was the one who lead him to him? "In what way did you think it was a good fucking idea to send that bastard to pick me up?"

"He wouldn't have had to come if you hadn't gone out in the first place!"

"The only reason I was even out in the first place was -"

"Yes, yes." England had lost all sense of danger, too anger to remember that his brother had beaten him half to death for less than answering back to him. "Because you're so torn up about France that just can't cope with all that guilt."

Sarcasm and mocking probably wasn't the best route to take when arguing with Allistor. His thought was confirmed when Scotlands fist connected promptly with his jaw, knocking him back against the sink. His face flared with pain and he tasted blood.

Righting himself, he ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, checking everything was okay. A few scratches and a loose tooth that would right itself in a few hours. Not as bad as it could have been then...

"Don't lash out at me because you're still too afraid to face the fact that France might not love you after he finds out the truth." He glared at his brother, inwardly panicking, knowing he'd gone too far.

He expected another punch, or at least a knee in the ribs or something. To his total surprise, Scotland just snarled and stormed off upstairs, throwing his glass on the table and grabbing a bottle of whiskey before slamming the kitchen door.

Puzzled by Allistors reactions, he watched the door in shock, expected him to come back through and beat the living shit out of him, but a door slammed somewhere upstairs and all was silent.

The kettle whistled, clicking and pulling England out of his daze. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, grabbing a teacup and mulling over his thoughts. That went better than expected considering the circumstances.

* * *

*In 1560 the Auld Alliance was officially disbanded, but in 1562, Scotland sent soldiers to Normandy to aid the French Huguenots (members of the Protestant Reformed Church of France) in the French Wars of Religion. - This was a civil war but I'm using it as a way for Scotland to see France again, or something...I haven't counted in the fact that this war lasted 36 years, so i may have to change this chapter a bit to fit into that.

Bear with me. It's been focusing on England quite a lot, but it's going to move to just Scotland and France soon :3

Also, sorry for England going on so much...

And I really need to start describing the rooms.

Urgh...and to stop ending the chapters so suddenly .

Please check out the poll on my profile.


	5. Chapter 5

Fifth chapter :)

I had **meant** to get this out sooner, but for some reason my entire computer crashed and I lost freaking EVERYTHING for this fanfic. I had about another 5,000 words (3 or so chapters) almost finished that I was going to upload during the week and then this had to happen .  
I can only remember vague details as well, because I wrote a lot of the party scenes about a month or so ago :I

Anyway, this is the last chapter with England (I promise!) and after this, it's mainly going to focus on France and Scotland, with a few chapters on Hungary (and maybe some China, depending on how the story goes)

Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

* * *

England furrowed his brow for about the millionth time that morning, rubbing the bridge of nose and trying to rid himself of a killer headache that had flared up thanks to Scotlands temper last night. His jaw ached terribly, his tooth was beyond sensitive meaning he was starving and he had one of the worst headaches imaginable. That, including the fact he was meant to be in charge of all the organising of this stupid party for tomorrow night meant that not only was he grumpier than usual, but he was also stressed, and really wasn't in the mood for the usual antics that happened at these types of things.

Due to tradition, or something like that, every nation who wanted to attend the party, no matter how big or small they were, had to help out with the organising in some way or another, which meant he had to somehow find entertainment for the micronations to stop them reeking havoc due to the fact they had trouble focusing on one task for more than five minutes, make sure no squabbles arose and had to give everyone a job that suited them, or at least had them doing something.

He honestly had no idea why he couldn't just get some of his people to do it. They were very organised and could have everything from the band to the decorations set up within the hour, and it would also mean the room wasn't over-run with nations bickering or mucking around and disturbing the ones that were actually trying to help.

Standing by stage at the front of the giant ballroom, England held a clipboard in one hand with a list of what needed to go where, and was using his other hand to alternate between pointing out commands and rubbing his aching jaw. The place was pretty packed, and the noise level was horrible, ranging from piercing laughs to occasional screams from the Baltics as Russia snuck up on them (or from Russia as Belarus snuck up on him) which made it even harder to give out commands.

Countries would come up to him every now and then when they had finished their current task, but he was mostly left alone to survey the room and make sure everyone was being useful in some way or another. On occasion, he would need to raise his voice, and every time he shouted the vibrations were sent to his still loose tooth. It wasn't as painful as it was that morning, but it was still a bugger when he needed to get people in line. Thankfully, he had managed to hide the now yellow bruise with some concealer or whatever the beige stuff was he still had lying round from his punk days.

"Italy!" He shouted as the country drifted in frontof him.

"Ve~?"

"Stop bouncing around. Germany, do something about him!"

"Sorry." He said before herding Italy off to Japans table, where Greece and Turkey sat arguing over who should help Japan make the wall decorations.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose again before he set off to make a round of the room. _Just a two more days..._He thought to himself. _Two more days and I can finally be free of all of this._

Considering all the nations of the world were gathered under one roof, things were going quite well. There had only been a few minor scuffles, which were easily broken up by a third party, and the most of the arguments had actually stayed on topic for once (every one of them had a habit of bringing up old history, like Americas insistence that Russia was actually stalking him because he couldn't get over the cold war.) That being said, there wasn't actually much progress being done on the organising front. The decorations were starting to go up, that was for sure, and Austria and Hungary had done brilliantly at setting up the places for the orchestra that would arrive tomorrow, but the tables for any nations that didn't want to dance had yet to be set, the flower arrangements were coming along poorly (no matter what Holland said,) and there was no way the massive dining room next door could even be considered finished, but if all else failed, he could call on his fairies and hope that they were in a good mood.

"Spain!" He barked, as he came upon the sight of Romano struggling as Spain held him what looked like a headlock. "Leave Romano alone and go help Belgium!" He barely caught the grumble from Spain as he dropped a blushing Romano. Romano picked himself up, shooting a glare in Englands direction for good measure before stomping off to Japans table to shout at Germany.

Scanning his eyes across the room again, he tried to make sure everyone was behaving. The micronations sat in the corner colouring while Seychelles watched over them. Austria and Hungary were focusing on moving a grand piano over to the stage while Romania bounced around them shouting insults at Hungary (who ignored them so as to look good in front of her ex-husband.) And Prussia and Denmark, who were meant to be in charge of moving the crates of beer to the open bar, were getting drunk in the corner and laughing at something stupid.

England sighed. There really were some nations that were useless at this kind of thing...

Which brought up the question of where that pervert France was. Usually he would be hitting on some poor nation that let their guard down, or causing some kind of trouble with Prussia. Actually, if he thought about it, he hadn't seen France all day.

"Hey, Germany?" He called out, Germany being the only responsible nation within calling distance.

Holding one of Japans decorations in place against the wall with one hand, he turned around, a piece of sellotape in his mouth. Like himself, Germany was starting to look a little worn down, his usually perfectly slicked back hair becoming ruffled and his clothes somewhat out of place. "Seen France?" He shook his head in reply before turning back to his job, but not before shooting a look to Italy (who was happily showing off his newly made decorations to Japan) to make sure he was okay.

Sighing, he went around the room again, asking all the little groups of nations if they had seen him. It wasn't like he was worried or anything! It was just that if the bastard didn't help out with the organising, he wasn't allowed to come to the party.

...xXx...

He was definitely going to be murdered for this. He had already pushed past Scotlands 'limits' yesterday by shouting at him, and there had been no sign of him whatsoever when England got up the next morning, so God knew if he was still around or not, but he had to risk it. If his boss found out that France, one of the members of the G8 and their ally (no matter how much England himself hated it) didn't attend, he would never hear the end of.

There was no chance Scotland would answer if he tried calling him, but if he sent him a text...Though he could rarely tell what was running through that maniacs mind, fingers-crossed he would at least be curious as to what the text contained.

It was a lot to bank on, but hopefully his brother didn't hate him so much that he would just ignore anything he sent him.

* * *

Once again, sorry for the cut-off ending .

I'm going to come back and edit it at some point and hopefully it'll flow better :)

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